


The Golden Prince

by Lynds



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Knight Graves, M/M, Mary Lou Barebone is Her Own Warning, Mutual Pining, Prince Credence, Queen Mary Lou, Religious Conflict, Whipping, as torture not in a sexy way!, bamf credence, but only for like 3 chapters because I'm not very good at slow burn!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-04-29 00:02:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14460699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynds/pseuds/Lynds
Summary: Prince Credence would do anything to save his people from the war and persecution his mother imposes on them, but he can't help looking at his most loyal knight, Sir Percival, and wish he could feel something more for Credence than mere affectionBased onthis incredible aesthetic by vacantbloodbones





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is actually a collaboration with someone who doesn't want to be named, who wrote two fabulously sexy chapters!! I had so much fun with this plot - it's sort of aesthetically based in medieval times, but because I'm feeling very lazy I did NO research, therefore let's just say it's based in a fantasy universe! Some people have magic, some people don't. I hope you enjoy it!

_Once upon a time, there was a prince who was beloved of his people…_

Credence made his way through the marketplace, chin high, and showing no evidence of the sweat that swelled under his heavy brocade coat. The vendors’ stalls pressed close, holding the unseasonal autumn heat and forcing the populace to crowd together as they shopped, the smell of unwashed bodies sharp and vital in his nose. 

“My lord,” a woman called, her head bowed and arms outstretched. “Please accept this humble gift, and bless our stall with your custom?”

Her voice was low and scratchy, and Credence wondered how long it had been since she had quenched her thirst. He stepped closer to the wooden stand, a smile curling his cheeks, inclining his head as he held out both hands for the fine lace. “Your craft does you credit. May I have your name?”

“Alice, my prince,” she said, bobbing a curtsey. “My… my son made it. If I may be so bold, he always said your grace inspired him..” She swallowed hard. “It was the last piece he made before he was…”

Credence closed his eyes against a wave of grief. He gestured with his head for Sir Percival to step forwards and take the piece, then held Alice’s shoulders in both hands. “Your son does me too great an honour. I pray for his safe return from battle - for the swift end to this war that takes too much from our people.”

A tear ran down her cheek and she twisted her fingers together. A young woman, her headscarf tight around her head, bowed to Credence as she came to console Alice. 

Credence stepped back and hid his uncertainty, the rageful impotence, under layers of poise and years of training. The crowd had fallen quiet around them, heads bowed in shared grief as well as respect, but he knew there was no more he could do, not here.

He turned to take the lace from Sir Percival again. The knight’s calloused hands brushed sharp against his own weak, soft skin as the precious fabric was passed between them, and Credence controlled the shiver that wanted to flutter down his spine at the contact. Instead, he wrapped the lace in paper and placed it in the bag at his hip.

“Will you not let me carry that for you, my Prince?” Asked Percival, his low voice caressing Credence’s soul.

Credence smiled at him, trying to keep the affection he felt for his first knight at bay, his own secret. One of so many, but certainly his favourite. “No indeed, Sir Percival, for it would impede your stance, were you to be forced to fight for me. As you so often remind me, that is why you are by my side.”

Sir Percival bowed his head, a strand of dark hair falling forwards over his brow. Credence saw a slight smile curl at his cheek. “As you say, your highness.” He straightened up, serious once more, his golden brown eyes holding Credence’s gaze and making him burn under his skin. “Your safety is the one thing of any importance to me.”

Credence could no longer hold back the blush that stole across his cheeks, and ducked his head to hide a smile behind the curtain of curls that fell around his face. How long he had wished for that protective loyalty to grow to something more, dreamed of Percival’s love for his country to become a different love for Credence himself, not simply the crown he represented! As he walked back to the palace, keeping the slow gliding walk that had been beaten into him since he could remember, he allowed the small joy of Sir Percival’s devotion to crystallise in his memory, a jewel more precious than any in his crown.

The street widened as they left the market and joined the main thoroughfare that led to the palace, stone glinting a rich golden brown in the afternoon sun. He walked down the very centre of the cobbled street, his gaze firmly ahead save for slight nods acknowledging the genuflection of his subjects as they called out to him. Sir Percival walked a half step behind and to his right, and though Credence could only just see him in his peripheral vision, he knew his knight’s eyes were casting a net across their way. Credence would feel more safe with his eyes closed in Sir Percival’s care than with his own weapon in hand in his absence, and he allowed his attention to rest on the bath he could request in his chambers, and the unguents and oils from Newt’s apothecary that clinked softly in his bag.

“Where is my wife?! Where is my wife, you bastard?”

The roar pierced the sultry air. Credence’s attention narrowed down to the thump on his chest as Sir Percival pushed him behind, the glide of scabbard on sword as he drew his weapon, and the pulse of panic in his bloodstream, suddenly beating on his high collar. “Stand down, blacksmith,” growled Sir Percival, his head bull-lowered and his sword at the throat of a huge man.

“I want to know where the crown has taken my wife,” he all but screamed, great hands clenched into fists and tears glistening in his reddened eyes. As Credence watched, one relinquished its hold and tracked a line through the soot and grime on his cheeks.

“Sir Percival,” said Credence, one hand on his shoulder. “Let him speak.”

“He may speak, your highness. But he will do you no harm lest he wish his head to cleave from his neck.”

Credence nodded to the blacksmith. “I do not know your wife,” he said. “Why is it that you believe I would?”

“Your men,” he spat, his voice trembling. “They took her. They said she was a heretic, that she practiced magic but she did not!” He gulped for air, tears now a constant stream down his face. “They… they took her mother’s necklace as proof, but… but it was naught but a symbol of remembrance! Her mother may have been an outlander, but she raised Temperance to our ways. It was just a necklace with a moon and stars, no more and they took it as proof that she… that she was a witch!” He fell to his knees, uncaring of Percival’s sword still at his throat. “Your highness, they say you are merciful… please… please bring my wife home to me. She is loyal to the queen and to God and no other. Please! I beg of you, my prince. Our babe is still suckling… must I lose him too?”

Credence took a sharp breath, his chest aching. He stepped forwards and bent before the man, Percival moving his blade and grunting in displeasure. He clasped the blacksmith’s hand in his own. “As God is my witness I shall learn the fate of your wife and…” he swallowed, throat suddenly dry. “And I shall speak on her behalf with the queen. Now, go to the apothecary on the corner of Ship Street and Barrowdown and tell Newt I have sent you - he will tell you of a wet nurse for your little one.” He allowed a hopeful smile to curl his lips. “Let us pray it will be but a temporary solution.”

The man whimpered and clutched Credence’s hands to his forehead, sobbing so hard it shook his great frame. Sir Percival sheathed his sword and lifted the smith to his feet. “Thank you, your highness… thank you. Bless you.”

“Save your thanks for when your wife returns to you,” he said softly, sadly, and the man sobbed again, stumbling down the road towards the marketplace. Credence straightened his back and stared up at the palace. “Come, Sir Percival. I must request an audience with my mother.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence faces his mother the Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly graphic description of whipping in this chapter - I researched biblical punishments for this, it was horrifying... I also named some of the characters after those listed in the Salem witch trials!

Percy followed his prince up the last wide streets to the palace, never allowing his focus to lapse. Prince Credence glided through the vaulted corridors, his back straight, his poise perfect as always. Percy was close enough that he alone could see the sweat dampening the black curls against the graceful curve of his neck, and he had to force his gaze away.

True to his word, he walked straight to the council chambers, where his mother the Queen would be holding court. Percy noticed no flinch in his demeanour, no flicker of fear, save for the clenching of his fists, skin stretching white over his knuckles. Percy’s heart ached. He wished, not for the first time, that the young man he adored was not so kind, would think more of himself than his people. If it were so, Percy could have some chance of one day convincing him to run from this repressive land in the dead of night, flee the violence and control and travel together, under Percy’s protection. Many a night had he spent in dreams of simply wandering, like he had done in his youth, before he arrived in Salem. Those days had been carefree, but lonely, and imagining the perfection of Prince Credence by his side, bestowing those precious small smiles on him, was an indulgence to be treasured in absolute secrecy.

Credence stopped the requisite seven paces from the throne and dipped his head in a bow. Percy dropped to his knee.

“Prince Credence.” Queen Mary’s voice was ice to Percy’s spine. “For what reason do you interrupt the council in session?”

Percy’s immediate instinct was to bristle on his prince’s behalf. Credence was of age, surely it was not only his right to take part in council meetings, but his obligation. As heir it was vital that he learn statecraft. But Credence’s voice betrayed no impatience or irritation. “My queen,” he said, his voice soft and carrying to every corner of the great chamber. “Forgive my intrusion. It has come to my attention that there has been an arrest made in error, an accusation of witchcraft mistakenly made.”

There was silence. The hairs at the nape of Percy’s neck raised in warning.

“Are you questioning the wisdom of our most vital law, Prince Credence?”

Credence’s head snapped up, his first show of fear. “Not at all, your Majesty! I would never consider it.”

“And yet you speak on behalf of a witch, whose own neighbour has denounced her for unspeakable acts? Tell me, my child, do you know this woman better than those who are forced to live near her?”

He bowed his head again in supplication. “Her husband—“

She scoffed, and Percy _felt_ the eyes of the council fall derisively on Credence’s bent neck. “Her husband. A man in the thrall of a witch? You believe his word over that of a God-fearing neighbour, a man well respected and active in the church.” She turned to one of her councillors. “Remind me, Lord Griggs, of the evidence against Temperance Bradbury.”

A thin, white haired man stood and coughed importantly. “The case against Mrs Bradbury was brought by a Mr Timothy Swann, who claimed that Mrs Bradbury had cast upon him the evil eye, and caused him to become unnaturally enamoured of her. Indeed, upon investigation, many items of a concerning nature were found in her possession, including an amulet for worshiping the moon goddess, and a poppet believed to be used in the cursing of good Christians.” He looked up and sniffed. “We are even now collecting further evidence against her from other neighbours.”

“And what about evidence on her behalf?” asked Credence, standing straight once more, his voice limned in steel. Percy felt warmth flood his every cell, fear and pride for his prince saturating him.

He stood, his chin high, face determined as he gazed into his mother’s eyes. Queen Mary stared down at him, the slightest curl to her lip. “I am concerned about your priorities, Prince Credence. I believe it is time to remind you of where your loyalties lie. Time for you to prove your devotion to our Lord God and rejection of Satan and his servants, those who would practice witchcraft.” She turned to the council, her voice rising to spread, insidious, through the hall, through the unknown channels of gossip and into the city. “Let it never be said that I show favouritism. Let it be known that I shall punish my own flesh and blood in defence of the Word of God, and that our battle against the evil of witchcraft may be waged across the lines of love and family. The witch Temperance Bradbury shall be hanged at noon on the morrow.”

“No!”

Her head snapped to Credence as he cried out, and her eyes narrowed. “And my son shall take twenty lashes with the scourge, as a reminder that our Lord Jesus suffered for our sins, and we shall suffer gladly with him.”

Percy felt the blood drain from his face. He wanted nothing more than to gather the prince up and run with him, but Credence gathered his poise and straightened his back. With his spine dead straight, he walked after the Queen, a silent procession that grew as they neared the courtyard. Percy glared at every face that joined, remembering those whose eyes gleamed with schadenfreude, and those who looked after the prince in sorrow.

His very soul ached to see his beloved prince step out into the courtyard and strip his golden coat off, revealing a back littered with scars. He nodded to the executioner, Jacob, who bowed his curly head in sorrow and respect. The queen mounted the stairs to the royal box, her voice cold and clear as she announced the execution of the blacksmith’s wife, and the punishment of the prince.

The people gathered as the news spread through the city. Jacob lifted the scourge, braided leather thongs interspersed with shards of bone, vicious and unnecessary. Percy felt ill.

“Stop,” called the queen. Her voice projected clearly without her raising it. “To prove your loyalty to queen and country, I would have your most loyal knight perform the punishment.”

Percy’s heart froze in his chest. He could not - he could never bear to hurt Credence. But the prince turned, his eyes meeting Percy’s, and he nodded. There was nothing but peace and acceptance in his expression, and Percy could not bear it.

Jacob placed the handle of the whip in Percy’s hand. “Do not hold back your strength,” he said softly, sad eyes meeting Percy’s. “It will do him no good. Trust me.”

Credence turned to face the whipping post, muscle and sinew shifting under his skin as he raised his hands over his head. Percy’s feet led him forwards, each step like lead.

“Begin,” called the queen, and Percy steeled himself. He raised the scourge, hating the feel of the leather in his hand, the sound of the bone clicking, the evil woman who would have her own son whipped in front of his people by the man who would have done anything to save him from harm. He took a breath, held back his gorge, and swung his arm.

The first lash fell across his shoulder blades, and Credence twitched, but made no sound. Percy cringed, his heart shrivelling within his chest, but he lifted the whip again. As the strikes fell, the shards of bone ripping into his skin, leaving red lines of inflammation and torn flesh, Percy gulped back his grief and rage. 

By the fifth strike, the blood was flowing. By the seventh, Credence was grunting in pain. When he cried out loud on the eleventh, the bone slicing into the skin on his ribs, Percy could hold back his own sobs no longer. He whipped the leather into his beloved prince’s body, his eyes blurred with tears.

He was breathing hard, almost sobbing, by the twentieth. Credence’s knees had given out beneath him and he sagged, his head hanging low between his shoulders. Percy returned the hated scourge to Jacob, wiping his tears away discretely before turning to the prince.

Credence had gathered his strength, his legs holding him, though they trembled visibly. He gathered his silk shirt and coat, buttoning them up though the blood soaked through the fine material immediately, and turned, his poise perfect as he bowed to his mother. Thanked her for her protection of his immortal soul. Percy kept his mouth shut lest he lose the contents of his stomach.

He remained standing in the courtyard as the queen left, as the council dispersed. As the people returned, heads bowed, to their work. He stood, eyes fixed on the precious blood that marred the dust of the courtyard.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy times brought to you by my Silent Partner ;) (that is now their official name). Did I mention I do not do slow burn? SP doesn't either!

Credence kept his head up and his back straight until the moment the door shut behind him with a hollow boom. He whimpered as the heavy silk pressed onto his wounds, a wave of dizziness rushing through his head, and were it not for Chastity’s small hands clutching at his biceps, he would have fallen.

“I loathe her,” she said, her voice rough with tears, her fingers tight on his skin. “Credence, my brother, I cannot watch you suffer this much longer, I cannot—“

“Patience, Chastity,” he said, or rather croaked. He cleared his throat, wishing the pain were so easily dismissed. “We must have patience. Now is not the time.”

“I would kill her where she stands,” she hissed.

He pressed his hand to her mouth, glancing around, but they were alone in the antechamber. “Chastity,” he said at last, his hand leaving a smear of blood on her cheek. “You cannot… the resistance is not ready. The people…”

She shook her head, and the disappointment in her eyes was worse than the lashes. “You always say this, Brother. Do you have no faith in your people? Do you think we cannot achieve this?”

Credence was silent. He turned his head from her. It was not a lack of faith in his people that gave him pause. He had no doubt that they were strong enough, that this was the right thing for them. But was he the right thing for them? Was he worthy? He could not believe it.

He took his leave and retreated to his room as quickly as he could, wincing with every step, probably having already ruined his shirt beyond any amount of the laundress’ scrubbing. Sir Percival had not stopped, nor been gentle, but Credence knew - well, he hoped at least, that the knight didn’t actually wish to hurt him. There had never been cruelty in the man’s eyes, not like mothers’ would hold.

He staggered into his bathroom and called for hot water to begin filling the tub before stepping behind his privacy screen. He stepped out of his shoes and slowly began to pull of his trousers, then worked on his shirt buttons. It took ages, thanks to his shaking fingers. By the time he was fully undressed the tub was full, steaming, the servants gone. Credence meant to pour half a vial of peppermint oil into the water, but accidentally knocked all of it in instead.

Oh well, not like _too_ much healing essence could be bad. He was lucky he knew someone in the apothecary. His dear friend Newt never asked why he needed such things so often. He just gave them to Credence, and thanked him for his business. 

Credence climbed into the tub and slid completely under the water, groaning in pain and mingled relief from the way the water soothed his hurting skin. It was good to cleanse the wounds, but the temperature of the bath was not very comforting.

The oil began to work soon enough, and Credence could see, beneath the hazy surface of the water, his skin was no longer bleeding freely. It even seemed to be healing a little. The stinging stopped, and as he leaned back against the edge of the tub, his shoulders did not pain him. 

He laid for a long time until the water had begun to feel chilled, before a knock sounded on the door, disturbing his rest. “Who is it?” he called out, his voice strained, raspy from disuse.

“It is I, Sir Percival. Please, my prince, allow me to enter and give you my deepest apologies?”

Credence’s heart skipped a beat, traitorously thundering in his ears. His urgency made him sit up so quickly he sloshed water out of the tub, and he felt the familiar warmth curling in his gut, even after all that had transpired. “Very well. Come in,” he said, and the door swung inward, revealing the knight’s handsome, if perspiring face.

Sir Percival seemed to be extraordinarily pale to Credence’s eyes, despite his overall tanned skin, and he quickly walked over to kneel beside where Credence was curled under the water. The knight’s dark eyes remained resolutely locked upon the floor, somewhere around the feet carved into the marble of the bathtub. “Forgive me, your highness. Take my sincerest apologies, and my life. It is in your hands. I know I am to be loyal to your mother, but after what heinous crimes she has made me commit today, I cannot. I can no longer serve her and _live_ with myself.”

Credence gaped at the man, whose gaze was still downcast, a vein twitching obviously at the side of his temple, a sign of nervous sincerity. Credence couldn’t help lifting an arm from the water, reaching out with a dripping hand to meet the knight’s forehead. His fingers traced over thick and heavy brows, which parted, as the man’s eyes _finally_ rose up on a journey to meet his own, although they landed on Credence’s wrist first, before then making their way over to his face.

“My lord, Sir Graves, you do not owe me anything, much less something so valuable as your life.” Credence bit down on the rest of his words, the earnest pleas for the knight to accept his gratitude for not harming him worse, but Sir Percival’s eyes darkened, and his lips parted so his tongue might slip out and wet them.

The knight looked as if colour was at last beginning to return to his face, and he suddenly leaned forwards, very directly, boldly, only to press his mouth onto Credence’s own. 

He was frozen, unable to move. His hand still cupped the knight’s cheek, holding his face tenderly, gently, as he wished very dearly to be touched right back. Then the kiss lit a spark upon the embers of desire, and Credence let out a noise that made him blush to the tips of his ears, before the knight pulled away, panting heavily. 

Sir Percival looked more than alright now, he appeared flushed, staring at Credence impertinently, before rocking back on his heels and getting to his feet, only so he could more easily admire Credence. “My prince, forgive me, again. I don’t know what came over me. You taste so wondrous. You smell of mint and lavender. I fear I may be going mad. Please, say something.”

Credence swallowed heavily, and then began to look his fill of the knight right back. Sir Percival was clearly affected, out of his right mind, all from a mere kiss, and Credence could feel his own cheeks as they started to burn hotter still when he lowered his gaze to the knight’s trousers. He was as out of sorts as Credence, but with nowhere to hide, no hard ridge of a marble tub to conceal his obvious desire. “You feel amorous… towards me?”

Sir Percival nodded slowly, and then dropped his eyes to the ground once again, determinedly shifting his body to the side, attempting to be modest, as Credence began to stand, exiting the tub to feel the now cool water sluicing down his skin, tickling over his aching flesh. He did not move, but instead spoke to the knight. “Hand me a towel.”

Sir Percival was forced to obey, bound by the laws. Laws such as those they had broken the moment their lips touched. Laws that Credence had been planning to break in the most treasonous way since he had approached Seraphina and her resistance. He would not allow himself to regret a second of it, and in his mind cut the cord that bound him to the hateful suppression of his love and passion. 

Credence could now become close enough to the knight to snag his wrist the second he extended a hand with a towel firmly grasped in his thick, calloused fingers. Credence held on tightly and tugged forwards, so the knight was now inches away from him, and still Sir Percival continued to avoid looking at him.

“I mustn’t, my prince. It would be wrong of me… after I hurt you so terribly.”

Credence could scarcely draw a breath. “That was not your choice. Besides, it would hurt me far more to deny this, to deny _us_. Would it not?”

The knight lifted his gaze, blessedly meeting Credence’s desperate and wanting gaze head on, and he gave the minutest of nods. Credence was now the one to lean in, to brush his lips clumsily along Sir Percival’s, only to then feel the knight’s other arm wind securely around his waist. He was guided out of the tub by the knight, towels forgotten, so that Credence was then standing, or more accurately resting, against the man, dripping water onto the floor.

Even now, barefoot, naked as the day he was born, Credence held the smallest of height advantages on the knight, clad in his full uniform and boots. Sir Percival gasped against his mouth, breaking away only to pant hard and fast against Credence’s neck, the hard line of his arousal evident against the man’s stomach, water beginning to soak into his clothing. “You should get undressed, lest I bring you to further ruination,” Credence said, and Percival laughed, a touch breathless.

“Further? My prince, being naked in your presence is going to lead to _certain_ ruin, I fear.”

Credence felt dizzy with such heat pumping through his veins, and his lips tingling from the power of their kiss. “So be it.”

The knight walked him out of the bathroom, held close in his arms, as if they were caught up in a dance, all the way to the side of Credence’s bed. He was laid gently down upon it. Far from sleepy, he watched as Sir Percival backed away and began to shed his attire.

Credence found himself pressing a hand between his legs, trying to stave off the arousal clenched tight in his gut. The incredible pleasure he got simply watching the knight beginning to become equally bared in his presence was breathtaking. He had never seen another man in such a state, and he was determined to commit the sight of Sir Percival as he was to memory, in case they could never meet again as they were in that moment.

The knight looked up to catch him staring as he was unsnapping his belt, and Credence flinched a bit in response, memories of past, 'gentler' punishments rising unbidden. When the man noticed he tossed the offending object halfway across the room, then resumed getting undressed. Credence swallowed hard as he watched Sir Percival’s lower body become revealed. He had stumbled upon the knight training one afternoon, many months ago during the early summer. He’d seen him exposed from the waist up as he practiced his sword skills, shirtless, clad only in breeches and boots. His long hair had hung wild around his neck and shoulders, the beard he had now had been a touch less thick, and his dark eyes remained determined as he worked. The knight had not noticed Credence. At least, he didn’t _think_ he had. But now, as Credence’s gaze began to traverse the length of the man’s body, mentally mapping his scars, taking in his muscled limbs and all of the tanned skin, he wondered, perhaps he’d not been as secretive as he thought.

“Like what you see, my prince?” Sir Percival asked, and Credence couldn’t help nodding, enamoured. 

As the knight moved towards him Credence began to wonder if there was something from the bath that was affecting him. Had it been the oil doing more than healing his wounds, returning his skin to normal? Even now as he shifted against the sheets, he could only feel a dull ache. As if the cuts had been made weeks ago, not hours. Whatever he had been given by Newt, it was not merely herbal remedies. There was _magic_ at work here.

Percy looked over at him as he sat, exploring his own back with his fingers. He leaned down to kiss his cheek before letting his lips trail down his recently healed shoulder, letting a hand caress his skin all the way to the curve of his buttocks. “This looks impossible, my prince. You were terribly injured when you left the square. How can this be?”

Credence could only shrug. "I cannot be sure, Sir Percival. But I have my suspicions."

“Can I ask a favour of you?” the man spoke again, his hands wonderfully distracting, and Credence, wrenching his gaze away from the twitching flesh between the knight’s legs, nodded once more. Sir Percival simply smiled beautifully at him, a hint of red in his cheeks. “Promise to call me Percy, when we’re together like this? It would please me greatly to hear my given name, when you find bliss at my hands.”

Credence gulped. “Just your hands?” he couldn’t help asking, and the man grinned wider, and shook his head.

“Sweet prince of mine, you may just be the death of me.”

Sir Percival, now Percy granted by his own tongue, came over to him, to loom beside him and then crawl onto the bed, moving atop his body, bracketing his much paler, slender form with his own, broad and toned. Credence arched his back, thrusting his hips up, chasing after more contact than a kiss, and he was quickly granted it. Percy’s hands gripped on his waist, and his head lowered to meet Credence’s. The kiss became heated when Credence moved again, and Percy lowered the rest of his body, his groin meeting Credence’s as he settled between the prince’s spread legs.

Their cocks brushed together, and Credence found himself crying out, while Percy’s mouth moved away from his and began to trail kisses from his jaw to his neck, along the collarbone, then lower. Wickedly, the man placed his mouth over Credence’s chest, licking and swiping his heated tongue on the hard buds of his nipples, darkened and stiff from desire. Percy appeared to be teasing him, testing his reactions by kissing there, and then worrying them between his teeth, gently at first, then biting down firmer and making Credence muffle a shout into his fist.

“Very responsive, my prince. Shall I do more?” Percy asked, trying to be clever, and Credence could only nod, and breathlessly plead him for more.

The knight did not delay now, perhaps aware of the torture he was putting Credence through. He ducked down to nuzzle his cheek against the prince’s stomach, his beard tickling over the curve of his belly, and the sharp jut of his hip bone. Percy’s hands now framed Credence’s waist, and slid back further, underneath, to grasp at his buttocks, squeezing and massaging the soft flesh that none had ever touched. His fingers were deft, exploring, sliding between his cheeks and tickling over his entrance.

Before Percy even let his lips graze over Credence’s cock he was humming into his skin, making Credence weep true tears of frustration, fluid escaping the head of his length. “You are going to kill _me_ ,” he sobbed.

Percy pulled back, only to smile kindly at him before he spoke as well. “I only wish to repay you with heaven’s light, ten times over.” Percy began to lick and suck and stroke over him in earnest, and Credence found himself spilling soon after into the knight’s eager mouth, his seed flowing down the man’s throat, as he reached his first peak. Just the first of many, if Percy was to be believed.

Percy moved off his softening cock and rested his prickly cheek on Credence’s inner thigh, making him twitch and shift, begging for mercy, for relief from the constant stimulation. “How can I help you, my lord?” Credence asked.

Percy shook his head, then leaned over to kiss beside his navel. “Did you think I have not received the same pleasure as you, my prince? I must confess, I spent as you crested. I have ruined your sheets for sleeping.”

Credence could only stifle a gasp, moving his leg over to try and wiggle between Percy’s thighs, and he felt it on his heel, the damp smear of seed atop the fabric of the bed. The knight had not been lying, or trying to ease his fears. “But I have done nothing!” he exclaimed, and Percy smiled, kissing his stomach once more.

“Darling prince, you are everything to me.”

Credence tried to protest further, but the man eased his way back up the length of his body, silencing him once more with lips over Credence’s own. He licked into the knight’s mouth, tasting the smoke from Percy’s own essence, along with a bitterness that could only be his own release.

Percy rutted into him for a long moment as they kissed, and then wrapped both arms around Credence’s waist suddenly, turning hard and pulling him atop. Now Percy was on his back on the bed, leaving Credence to loom over him, and blink down at the man whose dark hair was spread upon the pillows like a brown and golden tinted halo. Credence could not think of anyone who deserved a crown less than he did, and more than Percy, in that moment. “I love you, Percival Graves. I do. I cannot lie to myself any longer.” 

His breathing shook, but he was glad to have confessed. Percy blinked up at him with something like unbridled awe in his gaze, and then he put a hand to Credence’s cheek, caressing his skin and cupping his face like he was something precious. “My prince, I cannot say I have ever felt anything but fondness for you. If it were possible, I would have your hand tomorrow. I would spend my life at your side, protecting and serving you. I am loyal to only you. I meant it when I said it.”

Credence collapsed on the knight, clinging to him, burying his face in the man’s neck, and feeling the security of Percy’s arms in return about his body. For a long time they simply lay there, listening to one another breathe, until Credence recalled his lust, and began to kiss his way from the steady heartbeat of Percy’s chest all the way back up to his lips. “Will you take me? Have me here, right now?” Credence asked, moving his hips slowly over the other man’s, as Percy began to tremble with something like amusement.

“My prince, I would be honoured, but it is not so easily done as with a maiden. There is no glide. As you can see, my mouth would do, but there is little chance of my girth fitting inside you without pain.”

Even while he spoke, one of Percy’s hands began to pet its way down Credence’s spine until his fingers were stopped above his cleft, the pad of one steadily rubbing over his hole, not quite trying to press in. Credence swallowed, recalling the width of the man’s cock, and he knew, of course, that Percy was right. He was used to pain, of a sort, but that might be something unbearable, and he did not want to associate such horrors with his knight. “What if we could use something to help? Like the oils from the bath?” Most of the peppermint had soaked into his skin, leaving him feeling tingly, and fresh, but there was more. Oils that he used for his dry hands during the winter, stoppered under the sink, inside a cabinet.

Percy blinked, then smiled cautiously. “If you have such things… I might ask that you allow me to prepare you, and we may try.

Credence nodded, and fairly leaped out of bed to retrieve the bottle. It was something precious, so he carried it accordingly. The oil glimmered inside the glass, a liquid that was pearlescent and viscous when he pulled out the cork and dribbled some onto his fingers. It smelled of citrus and honey, shimmered on his skin like crushed star beams. Credence held out his hand and Percy drew in a breath. “I like it. It reminds me of you,” the knight said, his voice soft, soothing. 

Credence gulped down a lungful of air, and then moved to set the bottle on the small table beside his bed. “You may begin.”

Percy chuckled and leaned up on one elbow, gesturing. “Please, my prince, lie down upon your stomach and I shall.”

Credence crawled onto the blankets and settled on his front, arms folded beneath his chest, legs flat on the bed. Percy became easily distracted by touching over the rest of his bared backside, applying his mouth wickedly to kiss and lick wetly down Credence’s cleft. He groaned and thrust suddenly against the bed, his cock beginning to recover and harden once more as Percy brought his lips lower and grazed the tightly puckered flesh of his hole. “This is where I will have you, my prince. It will feel so good.”

“It does, even now,” Credence murmured as Percy massaged one of his thighs, urging them wider apart, then fairly pressing an open mouthed kiss more boldly on him. He could feel the wetness of the man’s spit trickling down the line of his sack, teasing his cock. Credence moved his hips again and his cock twitched from where it was trapped under his belly, against the sheets. As Percy’s mouth was continuing to kiss over Credence’s most intimate flesh, his arousal spiralled up and up, until the knight’s hands were the only thing keeping him still from steadily grinding into the bed.

Percy kept licking into his hole and over it, eventually sucking hard on his trembling rim, pressing both his thumbs over Credence’s ass, stunning him by then breathing into his damp skin, and then dipping a fingertip inside him. All there was to ease the glide was Percy’s own spit, and Credence swore he saw stars, before something suddenly quaked through him and he realised his cock was spitting out warm globs of seed, and as tears stung his eyes, he shuddered through another climax.

His gasp was stifled into the bed beneath him as he turned a cheek into it, and Percy backed away, kissing over Credence’s backside, rubbing the roughness of his beard into his skin, working his way back up the length of his spine. Percy’s lips were hot on his nape, and both of his hands still framed Credence’s hips. “My jaw is sore, but going off how wonderful that looked like it felt, I’d call it highly worth it.”

Credence couldn’t even speak. He just let out a low whine, and Percy reached away from him, plucking up the bottle, pouring a puddle of the oil onto Credence’s lower back, letting it settle in the dip of his spine. He dared not move, not wanting to waste a single drop. 

Percy’s hand returned to his skin, fingers swiping through the oil and dragging it down his cleft, slipping between his buttocks. Credence didn’t jump at the feeling, he rather arched into it, legs falling apart slightly, as Percy’s slick fingers massaged over his hole, and one just barely pressed in.

Credence let out a moan and felt the knight’s mouth on his shoulder, kissing, then biting down hard, the pain from that distracting him so the unusual feeling of Percy’s whole finger thrusting into him was no longer quite so strange. After a few moments, he startled, feeling something hard and hot digging into the back of his thigh. “Are you—?”

Percy sounded a touch out of breath, as another fingertip eased inside of Credence, so that two fingers ow stretched him, very wet from the oil. “Quite aroused, and very eager, my prince.”

“You can have me, I promise,” he mumbled right back, for he felt quite ready, fairly relaxed, and Percy would not hurt him. He trusted him. 

Percy’s hand did not leave him for a while, not until he’d managed to push three fingers inside of Credence, but he could feel the tremors in the man’s body when he finally did let go. He paused only to scoop up some of the remaining oil to coat his cock before guiding it alongside Credence’s ass, the tip just barely sliding in as the knight leaned up on his knees. 

Percy’s mouth landed over Credence’s neck, kissing up and around to find his cheek as he breathed heavily against his skin. “You feel so incredible, my prince. Very hot, and so tight. How can this be, that you are mine?”

Credence could not do more than gasp, and shiver from the wonderful feeling of being filled by the knight, now they had become one flesh as true lovers did, so that the sparks of bliss floating through his body stole away mere words. Instead he reached back and grasped one hand over Percy’s, linking their fingers together while pushing back and urging his cock to thrust deeper. Once the man had buried himself fully inside Credence, he started to withdraw, making him cry out as the head of his cock brushed against something that sent white hot delicious agony down his spine.

Under his belly, his spent length began to ache, and Percy kept rocking his hips down, and thrust back in. Credence lost count of how many times the knight drove into him, seeking out his own pleasure, but through every one he felt the rapid beat of Percy’s heart, just under the fingers clutching the man’s wrist. By the time he was stilling himself against Credence, muffling his groans into his neck, he was on the verge of another peak himself.

Percy’s cock pulsed deep inside him, causing the warmth of his release to drive in and spill out around his hole, before he stopped and lowered himself completely over Credence. He dimly felt one of the man’s hands as it slid under his side, caressing his ribs and reaching to find his cock, over sensitive and not yielding any further release, even as pleasure definitively wracked through Credence’s body from Percy’s touch.

The knight did not withdraw until the sweat had cooled from Credence’s neck and he felt uncomfortable stickiness between his thighs from where Percy had spent himself. “Are you feeling alright, my prince?”

Credence blinked away his tears, and turned back to smile shakily at the knight. “As if I’ve been to heaven and reached the stars.”

Percy smiled right back at him and leaned down to kiss him softly, while a gentle hand stroked down his back to where he was leaking the man’s release. Credence jumped a little at the contact to his loose and slightly sore muscle, but Percy did not try to do much more than lovingly trace over the fluttering rim, admiring him as he kissed away from his mouth, and nipped at Credence’s shoulder. “I think you shall be in need of another bath, my prince.”

“Only if you join me, Percy,” he argued, a yawn overtaking him and stealing the rest of his thought.

The knight laughed quietly, and then nodded. “If you would like. We have time for a nap as well, before we are missed at dinner.”

He reached out and curled his fingers around the man’s wrist. “So stay a little longer, then.”

Percy agreed, but only after being allowed to clean Credence up, without water and a washcloth, instead choosing to wickedly use his mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's news from the resistance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically a chapter full of politics!

Percy opened his eyes to amused, judgemental eyes, and froze. “Brother dear,” said Princess Modesty’s birdlike voice. “You have become careless in your old age.”

Credence stretched, then froze, then scrambled for the sheets, pulling them high on his chest. “Modesty! Have you forgotten how to knock?”

“I could hardly knock and call attention when I come bearing food for the disgraced prince, can I?”

“Disgraced… oh, Lord.” He groaned and pressed the heel of his hand to his face. “We missed dinner…”

“Do not fret, Credence,” she said, and smirked at Percy far too knowingly for one so young. “Everyone was sure you would be indisposed because of your wounds. I myself was concerned for your health. Clearly that was unnecessary.”

Percy was unsure he could ever be more embarrassed, and averted his eyes as the princess laid bread and cold cuts of meat at the table. Credence shrugged his robe on and petted her hair. “Thank you, Modesty,” he said softly. “You should not have put yourself in such danger.”

“It was no danger at all, brother,” she said, shaking her head. “Mother’s maid, Queenie, delivered the food herself.” 

There was nothing more than a flickering of her eyebrows. Percy would not have noticed had he not been observing her expression very carefully for any implication of threat to her elder brother, ensuring no hint of blackmail crossed her mind. Percy narrowed his eyes. If Modesty knew about the resistance movement, if she was trying to get involved, she would soon be in unconscionable danger. Credence simply bowed his head and kissed the princess on her forehead. 

“Thank you, dearest sister,” he murmured. “Stay safe.”

“I believe those are my words,” she said, holding his gaze with her pale eyes, her stubborn jaw jutting. Then she dropped a slight curtsey and was gone, with only one more snigger at Percy’s expense.

Credence bit his lip. Percy could just see the tell-tale movements of his jaw, his face turned mostly away from him. When he turned, his eyes were wide and soft, shy and unbearably beautiful. Percy felt his heart falling into an abyss and he gladly followed it into complete devotion for his prince, the man he loved.

“Would you eat with me, Percy?”

Percy smiled. “If you would have me, my prince.”

Credence brought the plate to the bed and sat, one leg curled under him while the other dangled off the side of the mattress. He picked up a slice of ham with his long, delicate fingers and held it up for Percy, his fingertips brushing his lips as he took the rich, salty morsel. He pressed a kiss to them before he had a chance to move them, and Credence smiled, that cupid’s bow curling up and sinking dimples into his smooth cheeks.

They ate together in a warm silence, a sphere of comfort surrounding them, insulating them from the dangerous world outside the chamber doors. Percy wished for it to last forever, to remain closeted with his love, to take him again and teach him all the ways one man can pleasure another, the only touch to his skin that of kindness and love and passion, and never more of cruelty.

But it was not to be. Once the food was all gone, Credence tipped the crumbs into the fireplace and turned the plate upside down. As he knew there would be, there was a letter, graphite on greased parchment, held flush to the metal of the plate with a slick of butter or animal fat. “We meet in an hour,” Credence told Percy. He shook his head as he read further, deciphering the code. “At Tina’s house - she takes too many risks.”

Percy shook his head and rose to dress himself. “She is a talented soldier,” he said. “One of my finest trainees. All her risks are calculated.” He buckled his scabbard onto his waist, then lifted the heavy coat Credence had been wearing that day. His fingers traced the russet stains on the rich material, the white and gold cloth rendered unwearable by Percy’s actions. He clenched his fists around the coat, pressing it to his forehead in grief. He should have moved their plans forward, they had stalled for too long. He should have made sure Credence was safe.

He jumped when the cool hand wrapped around his wrist. “This was not your doing, my love,” Credence said, taking the garment from him. He was already wearing a different coat, a plain deep indigo more appropriate for treason. He discarded the white one in favour of taking Percy’s hands in his own, running soft hands over his own calloused ones. Percy felt strangely ashamed of his roughness. Unworthy of this heavenly being in front of him. Credence placed his hand on his cheek, tilting his face up. “You did what needed to be done, and for that I am deeply grateful. This plot is of the utmost importance to our people. This war must end, and to know that you understand… that you see how my personal pain is more than worth the peaceful resolution of this ongoing tragedy? That is, in a way, evidence that you trust me. Trust my strength.”

“How could I doubt your strength, my lord?” he asked, pulling Credence close. “I have seen you hold your head high through such cruelty, still never deviating in your love and devotion for your people.” He pressed a kiss to Credence’s lips. “How could I ever have done anything but fall in love with you?”

Credence blushed, and kissed him back.

***

Tina welcomed the prince into her home with a perfunctory bow, and actually dared to hurry him into the meeting, to Percy’s embarrassment. But his chastisement died in his throat when he saw the elegant woman standing in the living room, talking to a smiling Queenie. “Seraphina!” he laughed, stepping forward to greet her.

“My lady,” said Credence, a soft smile curling his cupids bow lips as he inclined his head to her. “It does me good to see you safe in Salem once again.”  
Seraphina curtseyed low and kissed Prince Credence’s hand, but she had a fond smile on her face as she rose. “My prince. I heard of your… discipline in the courtyard this afternoon. I cannot leave you for one minute…” She shook her head, concern soaking into her smile. “Are you well, my lord?”

“You have been gone much longer than one minute,” he laughed. “But I am… well taken care of. Thank you. Now, let us not tarry, what news do you bring us from Hogwarts?”

Seraphina paused, her face pained, and Percy’s heart sank. “Dumbledore is… reluctant to choose sides in this battle.”

“What?” Tina cried, her mouth gaping open. “Can he not see Queen Mary poses a threat to his kingdom, with her violently anti-magic stance? Would he have all those with any trace of magic wiped from the face of the earth as well?”

Seraphina held up her hand to placate Tina. “You must understand, the situation is complicated.”

“How complicated can it be?” she all but snapped, and Percy placed his hand on her shoulder lest she bring shame upon herself with her lack of self control. She visibly reined herself in, but her fists and jaw were clenched still. “I apologise,” she said. “I had hoped…”

“There have been alliances between Dumbledore and Grindelwald of old,” Seraphina said, her hands upturned in a gesture of helplessness that Percy did not trust. Seraphina was a consummate spy and diplomat, and was never helpless. She turned back to Credence. “We will continue to lobby him. We appeal to his morals with our desire for peace, but were he to involve himself he may have to face Nurmengard in war alongside Salem - such is the opinion of his council.”

“But Prince Credence would petition Grindelwald for peace!” Tina said, and Percy sighed, squeezing her shoulder again. Her idealism just could not be contained at times. She turned to Credence himself, her eyes blazing. “We should move forward anyway, my lord. We are ready, we have trained for so long. The entire city is behind you.”

Credence’s mouth opened, and for a moment his perfect court mask fell away and he was as vulnerable as he had been laid out before Percy in bed. “I do not…” he trailed off and looked back at Seraphina, panic flashing through his eyes. “We should not be hasty, should we, Lady Seraphina? We must take time to adjust our plans.”

“But what about Temperance Bradbury?” Tina demanded. “The woman who faces the hangman tomorrow - must there be yet another mother torn from her children, for no good reason? Is it not enough that our warriors face death each day in the war with Nurmengard, we must have battle on the home front too?”

“Tina, hold your tongue,” snapped Percy. “Do you not see that a revolution would cause battle on the home front too? You argue against yourself.”

“But if everyone is on His Highness’ side, it would be a bloodless coup!”

“You are naive if you believe that every member of the Queen’s old guard will relinquish their position on the council without a fight,” Seraphina said, side-eyeing her.

“Oh, them,” she huffed. “Old men out of touch with the city, who have not held a sword in too long?”

“Enough,” said Credence softly, but his voice held the authority of rule that gave his words steel. Tina and Seraphina inclined both their heads immediately, while Percy himself was left breathless with love and lust at that one word. “We return to our plans,” he continued, holding the gaze of each person in the room. “But Tina is right - we will not leave Temperance to her fate. Seraphina, Queenie…”

“Say no more, your highness,” Queenie smiled with a bobbed curtsey. “My Jacob is on duty in the early morn. A much less suspicious hour for a jail break and a bold escape.”

“Where to?”

“We have a network of safehouses,” said Seraphina, nodding to Queenie. Percy could already tell there were calculations being worked behind her eyes. “While Dumbledore has refused our request for political and physical help, he is not unsympathetic to our plight, and many of our people have settled in relative peace in Hogwarts.”

Credence nodded, a weight seemingly lifted from his shoulders. “The life of a refugee can be no easy undertaking, but with her family by her side, I dearly hope she may find security.”

“The sooner we can work out the logistics, the sooner they may return, my lord. All of our displaced people,” said Percy, and he could not help but lay his hand on his love’s shoulder. Credence’s face softened and his lips curled in a sweet smile meant for him alone.

***

Percy ensured that he and the prince were far from the citadel when Temperance Bradbury was freed, made sure that they were seen attending a harvest service in a small but well-attended church on the outskirts of the city. It was a coldly planned move, but Percy could not but feel his heart warming as he watched Credence and the princesses walk among the poorest of their people, those who served the hunger of the city while reaping the least of her rewards. Credence’s grace and beauty brought the sun from behind the clouds and raised spirits beyond thought of war and winter.

He found himself holding onto that memory of his prince as they re-entered the city, as the sharp aura of fear settled back into his bones. The increased guard around the city walls, the hushed conversations, the streets devoid of people even so early in the evening. Percy clutched the golden vision to his heart even as he bowed to take leave of his love. 

“I shall see you tonight, I hope,” said Credence, his voice low and husky, pink spots high on his cheeks as Percy bent over his hand, brushing a chaste kiss to the back of it. He smiled, hoping Credence was also thinking of those kisses on the rest of his delicate skin.

“My lord,” he said, holding Credence’s eye, a silent promise. Then he turned, and walked away.

Had Percy known how long it would be before he once again saw the man he loved, he would have looked back. He would have turned back to his prince and gathered him up in his arms with no thought to those around him, pressed him close and kissed him, given him every piece of his heart so that when he saw his soldiers killed, when he himself was taken, he would have no heart left in his breast to break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, I'm really sorry! I'm a cliffhanger bitch!
> 
> 17/5 - Oh my god what an editing fail...I did not mean to imply that they will NEVER see each other again I'm sorry!!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence discovers what happened to Percival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am actually really proud of this chapter... I tentatively feel like I brought my A game (entirely accidentally, I TRY to bring it for every chapter and usually just have to settle, but I'm really happy with this one lol!)
> 
> This one's a bit gory and death-y!

When Credence woke, his bed empty, he was sure to keep his heart from sinking. Percival was meant to meet him last night, to come to his chambers and fall into heaven in his arms, but he had fallen into a troubled sleep instead. It meant nothing. Credence would not allow himself to spiral into fear.

But when he had dressed himself and called for breakfast, once he had walked through the palace, and out into the city, and still Percy had not come to meet him, Credence allowed the poison to sink into his veins and spread through his muscles, twitching and vibrating.

When night fell and there was still no sign of his love, Credence, heart pounding, could not but investigate. And yet he could find no sign of Tina, or any of Percy’s usual team. By the time the sun set behind the mountains of Nurmengard his hands were clenching rhythmically into fists.

“My prince.” The soft, deep voice startled him, and he spun around, adrenaline thundering through his veins. Seraphina stood, her dark eyes wider and younger than Credence had ever seen. “Sir Percival…”

“What know you?” Credence’s fingers closed around her biceps, and he held his entire body under control to stop himself from shaking her. “Where is Sir Percival?”

She blinked, her eyelids fluttering in a tell of fear he had never seen. Seraphina was unflappable, and yet here she was, allowing her fear to show. “The Queen called him to her council yesterday evening. She sent him and his soldiers into the very centre of Nurmengard, she has charged him with a direct attack on Grindelwald’s stronghold.” Seraphina shook her head. “She knows it is suicide. She must know it is, my lord!”

Credence froze, his eyes searching her face for any falsehood. “No…” he whispered. “It cannot be… why…” He gulped. “Seraphina, what does she know? Does she…?”

“I do not _know_ , your highness. I do not believe she knows, or at least she has no proof of any plot. But the suspicion is all she needs, is it not? She has absolute authority, and needs no more than to order him to his… his doom, and he can do no more than comply.”

“No. No! He could have come to me. He could have woken me, and we would have brought the plan forwards! Why did he not… did he think I would not stand by him? Did he think I would not do anything for him?”

She shook her head. “Oh, my prince, it matters not. Perhaps he knew. Perhaps he did not. But think, if he had known the depth of your feeling for him, it would have tied his tongue all the more. He would not have risked the plot for his own safety. You know him, Prince Credence. You know this.”

He released her arms and stumbled back, numb. “Yes,” he said. “I know that.”

***

The week that followed was nigh on unbearable. Credence woke to a new personal guard, a sycophant named Abernathy whose loyalty to the queen appeared absolute. He barely looked Credence in the face, let alone favouring him with the kind of affectionate conversation he had so adored from Percy, even since before his feelings for the knight had turned to love. He walked the streets of the city in a daze, attending every obligation, being seen. 

His mother had been sending him out in public in such a way since his youth - many people believed it was because he was a popular face of the crown, approachable and kind, but Credence knew the truth from his mother’s own mouth. If the public could see the weak prince they had, the frailty, the delicacy of his thin wrists and girlish face, they would feel relief that the Queen was still so strong. “Go out to the people, Prince Credence,” she often said, her eyes fixed out of the window in dismissal. “Remind them what they could have to contend with, and they will be grateful for my presence at the helm.”

For years he had agreed with her, thought it was the least he could do to make up for being such a disappointment. Perhaps without the words of a spy, and the adoring gaze of a knight, he would still be the spineless child he once was. Now he hid the steel that had grown in him behind his soft smile, and passed instructions along with the coins he dropped in beggars’ palms, received reports folded within frivolous items in the marketplace. He knew every single member of his city by name, knew where their loyalties lay and why, and what they could and would provide to the resistance effort.

And yet still Credence worried. He could not believe that he was the right person to lead the kingdom. Logically he knew this came from the message that his mother imparted to him with every word, that he was incapable, weak, pathetic, odd. In the daylight hours he could look away from the fear that she was right, especially when Percy was there, looking at him with unshakeable loyalty and pride, but each night, he lost himself in a swirling maelstrom of fear that his actions would bring ruin on his people, that their plan would fail and he would only be leading those he loved to their death. That they would succeed and he would disappoint every one of them with his ineptitude. If he was honest, they could have moved forward with their plans months ago. The only thing stopping them, truly, had been Credence.

***

It was a cold, clear day when the figure was spotted from the ramparts. The first frost had scattered its diamond sharpness across the land that morning, and each breath condensed in the air before their faces. Credence was readying his horse for a ride to the outskirts when the call went up from the guards.

When Tina was carried into the courtyard, bare feet bloody, stripped of armour, her arms cruelly lashed together behind her back, Credence was quick to run forward. “Take her to the apothecary by Ship Street,” he said, hands hovering over her wounds. “And for pity’s sake, someone cut her arms free!”

He did not bother to check that Abernathy was with him as he led the way to Newt’s shop. Everyone knew he was the most talented healer in the land, and so far his… special talents had gone unremarked. Newt sat her upon a bench and sent his apprentice running for herbs and bandages.

The process was long. Credence stood in silence in the corner of the shop, but many of the townspeople who had come to gawk soon lost interest and drifted away. He focused entirely on Newt’s actions, watching his every movement and allowing every word to occupy his mind entirely. He could not permit his mind to drift to the consequences of Percy’s right-hand man returning in such a state, alone.

At last she leaned back against the wall and drank her fourth bowl of beef tea. “My lord… Prince Credence,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Do not concern yourself with your report,” he said, holding up a hand. “I have simply waited to ensure your health. You must allow yourself to recover from your ordeal, all else can wait.”

She shook her head. “It cannot, my lord, I…” She glanced at Newt, eyes pleading, but for what he could not tell. He was not aware the two had made each others’ acquaintance, but it was clear they knew each other well enough to communicate in that silent way of long friends and lovers. Newt nodded and made his way to the door, shutting it upon potential customers. Then, both he and his young apprentice made the same complex gesture, murmuring unknown words beneath their breath, before scattering a pinch of some powder across the threshold of the door and window.

“It is done, my lady. None shall hear us. My lord.” Newt bowed to Credence, exposing the back of his neck, and Credence’s heart swelled with the clear expression of loyalty and trust. He smiled as soon as Newt raised his gaze, and inclined his own head in response.

Tina placed her bowl on the bench beside her, her fingers bulky and clearly tender. “My lord, it was a massacre,” she said softly, her sad eyes turned up to him. The fire Credence had always so admired in her expression seemed to have all but gone, only the palest flicker remaining. “We were to march on Nurmengard and attack without pause, aiming for the main gate of the fortress. There is not a single chance that such an attack would work without the full might of our army at its height, and with just a small battalion, it was… a joke. The queen called us all into the audience chamber to give us these direct orders. Such a thing had never been done before, a knight such as Sir Percival would always be trusted to determine the mode of operation.” She shook her head. “She was smiling when she gave us the order. She knew… she knew she sent us to our deaths.” 

Newt sat beside her and she leaned against his shoulder, allowing him to be her strength when hers was so cruelly depleted. “We… we watched them struck down around us as Grindelwald’s men laughed. Sir Percival and I… they seemed to have orders to keep us alive, us alone among our party and… my prince, I wished for death. I wished to join them as their lives were torn from around us, leaving us unscathed and surrounded with the blood of those with whom we had grown, trained, cared for… Sir Percival, he was as a madman. It took five men to subdue him, to tie him down, and still he roared and fought.”

Credence’s ears were ringing, a buzzing sound and sensation spread through every vein. He wanted to close his ears, close his eyes, beg her to stop. He could not bear to hear of his lover’s demise, but he had to. He must be strong, soak his spine in steel and witness Percy’s bravery. Even if it broke him.

“Grindelwald… he came to us himself. Laughed at us. Lined up the… the heads of those who had died beside us. And then…” Tina gulped a sob and Credence squeezed his eyes shut in preparation. “Then he tied Sir Percival to a post in the courtyard. He had him whipped until he fainted, until the blood stained the earth beneath his knees. And he… still, he would not take him down! He would not let me take his place. He left him there all night, left me tied to a post across from him, my arms trapped behind my back as you saw when I arrived, and then at daybreak, he had him beaten again. Three… three times I have seen him whipped, and the last time they did not bother waking him before.”

Tina’s eyes were almost swollen shut with her grief, and Newt held and hushed her, stroking her hair and her arms. Credence could feel his limbs trembling, wanting nothing more but to race to Nurmengard and launch an attack on the city by himself, tear the fortress apart brick by brick to get his revenge.

“He lives still, my prince,” Tina said, getting her breathing under control and leaning forward as if pleading with him. “When they cut me down from my post and stripped me of my boots and armour, when they sent me back to Salem to carry news of our defeat, he was still alive. He raised his head - my lord, he smiled at me! I could not bear it… please, Prince Credence, I beg of you. Please do something.”

As he opened his mouth, the city bells rang out, calling all to the courtyard for a royal announcement. Credence’s heart thrummed with hatred and fury, and without a word he leaped to his feet and ran through the city, through the alleyways that led around the edge of the marketplace, avoiding the bulk of the crowd. When he burst out into the sunlight, his mother stood at the balcony.

“People of Salem,” she cried. “Grindelwald of Nurmengard has issued his final insult. The massacre of Sir Percival and his men, the mistreatment of prisoners, has been his last mistake. I now call upon all who remain, each citizen older than sixteen, to gather their weapons and armour. We shall march upon the heathen city by nightfall and crush those who worship witchcraft under the might of the Lord God!”

A scattering of cheers rang out through the crowd, but most of the people were horrified, afraid. They stared in silence, or muffled sobs. Not a few of them slipped away from the edges of the crowd.

The fury that had burned in his gut ignited a great flame such as one would use to temper steel. He stepped forward and lifted his voice. “My queen, this is madness. We cannot hope to win if we simply repeat the same mistakes we have made before. This strategy of direct action has never been effective against Grindelwald!”

The Queen turned and looked down on him, a very slight smile growing on her lips. Until now such gladness would have terrified Credence, but all he felt this time was a fierce indignation that she should insist on this insanity, sending the people of Salem - _his_ people - to their deaths time after time. He watched her step down the great curved staircase, and raised his chin.

“Prince Credence,” she said, her voice seemingly soft but carrying across what seemed like the entire city. “For so long you have spoken out against our most fundamental laws, spoken on behalf of witches and heretics. And now you want us to let this foul act go unpunished? Are you truly on the side of Salem? Are you, perhaps, a spy for Grindelwald?”

Credence laughed. He could not help it, she was simply so ridiculous. “Spy for a man who wishes death to us all? No, mother, my heart has always and will always belong to Salem. But you… you seem as hell bent on our destruction as Grindelwald himself!”

“How dare you, whelp,” she hissed, baring her teeth in a snarl. “Any failures have been because of a lack of faith in the Almighty.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is that why Sir Percival has failed? Is it because he is as unnatural as his prince?”

He pitied her. “I know what is natural, my queen, is for a mother to love and support her children. I know it is natural for a leader to protect and serve their people. I know what is natural, is for those of us with power to stand before those who would cause pain and suffering, and turn them away. That is what I do now. I will no longer allow you to bring death to our people. For years we have battled Nurmengard, citing their refusal to accept those of us without magic, their insistence that all non-magic people are sub-human and should be enslaved. And yet I say it is time for us to turn to the snake in our midst. Those who would put to death Salemites with magic, those who believe that one group of people is fundamentally superior to another. Queen Mary, you and Grindelwald are one and the same, and as the Crown Prince or our land, I hereby take the rule from you.”

She laughed. “Guards! Kill him.”

Credence felt his every muscle harden, waited for the steel to slide between his ribs and into his heart. He told himself, as he savoured every pulse, that he would accept his death if that was God’s plan for him. As much as it broke him to admit it, his beloved Percy would join him in the afterlife before long, if he was not already waiting for him. But he wanted, oh he _wanted_ to live. To lead his people into a safer future, where families with magic users were no longer torn apart.

“Guards! Kill him! What are you waiting for, this is an order from your queen!”

Credence’s shoulders relaxed imperceptibly. He turned his gaze to the soldiers who stood to attention, who surrounded them. The crowd’s murmurs grew, a roaring storm of fear and upheaval and hope and panic. And there was Jacob, his chin held high. “Madam, we take our orders from the crown. The rule has been taken by Crown Prince Credence. Long live the king!”

Then the cry was taken up by those lining the courtyard, by people leaning out of the palace windows, by the crowd, by the city. The words spread through Salem, the moment as brittle as glass. The queen’s councilmen exchanged terrified glances, and Credence saw many of them disappearing, quite possibly forever. Their loyalty did not extend further than their fear for themselves. 

“You think you can usurp me?” his mother roared. “You, you weakling, deviant child, you think you can lead? You think I will allow this treachery?” She moved like a viper, the knife a glint in her hand as she raced towards him.

“My king!” Jacob’s voice rang out, piercing directly into Credence’s awareness, and as he glanced over the world slowed so that every second crystallised. The glint of the executioner’s sword spinning through the air towards him. The wind that whipped up his mother’s robes. The solid thud of the sword’s hilt in his palm, the rough grip. The whistle as the blade split the air.

The red of his mother’s blood on the courtyard floor. 

Credence did not allow himself to think. Did not allow himself to feel the horror that was rising in his gut, screaming at him, what have you done, what have you done. He turned his back on what remained of his mother and faced his kingdom, bloodied sword at his side.


	6. Chapter 6

Percy had lost all awareness of time. His arms were numb from being stretched above his head, the stabbing cramps now terrifyingly dull. He could feel the dried blood on his back flaking in the wind, rusty particles fluttering around him and becoming part of the sand on the courtyard floor. He licked his dry lips, his saliva sticky with dehydration. He did not bother to open his eyes. He knew it was the dawn of another day as Grindelwald’s plaything. 

Since Tina had been stripped of her armour and thrown out of the city gates, Percy had fluctuated between desperate hope that she had survived, and despair that she would have been taunted, toyed with, given a head start and then hunted by that bastard’s soldiers. A part of him, a part in constant tension and panic, waited for her bloody frame to be thrown down in the dust in front of him. To complete the grief that tore at him.

Grindelwald had an army of magic users at his disposal, a laughably perfect mirror to Salem. He would have Percy whipped several times a day, before calling for him to be healed just enough to survive. Just enough to take a new beating in a few hours’ time.

He tried hard to keep his mind off his beloved prince. If he thought of his sweetness, his gentle smile, he would surely lose himself to despair. He would want to live, and Percy had now accepted he was beyond such a kind fate. It would not be long before Grindelwald tired of this game of his, and then he would not bother to call for the healer. He would not see his love again.

The disruption outside the gates existed in the back of his mind for several moments before it filtered through to his consciousness. He frowned, his eyes still shut, as he heard the distinctive sound of battle, sword on sword, cries of pain and instruction. But why should there be such a thing, so close to the gates of the citadel? Salem’s soldiers had never yet managed to penetrate beyond the walls of the city, all battles taking place in the plains. He must be going crazy.

But there were hands on his own, smooth hands on his rough, bloody skin, and Percy could not believe it, would not accept the lies his eyes were telling him, because his beloved prince stood before him, murmuring sweet things, cutting his bonds.

Credence was dressed in black leather and golden armour, his hair drawn back and out of his face. He bore a sword at his hip and knives at his forearms, and his eyes were hard, the soft masks torn back to leave only his intelligence and passion. Percy reached out a hand for him as he sank back, no longer trapped, but his body betrayed him, weakened as it was.

“Newt,” called Credence, wrapping his arms around Percy and pulling him gently to his feet. “Jacob, Newt, I need you to help me bear him to the throne room.”

“My prince…” he said, his voice barely breaking a whisper.

Credence pressed their foreheads close for a moment. “I have you, my love. I have you, you are safe.”

“How can this be?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You cannot have believed that I would leave you here, and not tear the world apart to find you?” He did not wait for Percy’s response, but drew his sword and led the battalion across the curiously empty courtyard to Seraphina, who stood with another woman in the shadows of the palace.

“My prince, we must take the throne immediately,” said Seraphina, sparing a surprisingly relieved glance for Percy. “Grindelwald is occupied with the battle, it will not be long before he realises it is a decoy.”

Credence nodded. “My lady Ya, will you lead us?”

The woman at Seraphina’s side bowed to him and turned to hasten down a stone corridor. Percy, suspended between the executioner and the apothecary, tried to get his legs to obey and hurry after the prince.

They burst out into a great hall, vast pillars carved of granite and soaring into the ceiling under which doves fluttered. The afternoon light poured into an open balcony, and there, at the apex, rested a great throne, the wooden back carved into an arc of sun’s rays. Just as Percy, his mind surely delirious, considered that the seat would be perfect for his golden prince, Credence mounted the steps. Seraphina gathered her skirts and followed, withdrawing an intricate crown from her robes. “Well, my lord. This is not entirely what I had in mind when I thought to hasten your ascension to the throne, but never let it be said I cannot adjust to surprises.”

Credence quirked a smile, then bowed his head. Seraphina placed the delicate crown upon his silky black locks. “Long live the king of two lands,” she said.

“We may hope so,” he said, then shook his head. “I must admit, this is not entirely what I had in mind either.”

She glanced at Percy. “Love, my lord, brings out strange things in us all.” She retreated down the steps and came to stand with Ya, who linked their fingers tightly and kissed the back of her hand. 

Newt led Percy and Jacob over to a bench at the side of the throne room and lowered him down, fussing over him with balms and incantations. He poured a cool, sweet liquid down Percy’s throat that seemed to spread through every inch of his aching body, refreshing him and clearing his vision.

And what a vision! His prince draped himself on the throne with an arrogance Percy had never expected. “What in all the world have I missed? Has it been so long since I left Salem?”

Newt smiled, but did not take his eyes from his work. “Not more than three days, Sir Percival. But when news of your party’s demise reached us, the erstwhile queen called for a draft of all people of age. The country would have been decimated in her war.” He shook his head, mop of red curls shifting in Percy’s peripheral vision. “Prince Credence faced her, called it folly. She would have killed him, but for Jacob’s sword.”

“Jacob killed the queen?”

“No, Credence did so, but with Jacob’s sword, thrown to him in loyalty. He is truly King Credence now.”

“But why…”

“The war could not continue,” said Credence, his voice strong in the vast hallway. “We could not keep up this sacrifice, and yet I would not treat with the vile creature who would treat his prisoners like…” he clenched the fist at his chin and looked away. “He would never have accepted Salem as equals in any case, being as we are mostly non-magical.”

“But how could you be here?”

Seraphina smiled. “Thanks to magic.”

“Magic? But we have none!”

Newt cleared his throat. “I would not be so sure of that,” he said apologetically. “I do hope you will not look upon me with ill-judgement.”

“Of course not, apothecary. I have long suspected your abilities, and have been glad of them, for they bring relief to my pr- my king.”

“I am not the only one in Salem with such powers. And Ya is not the only one in Nurmengard who does not approve of the current tyranny here, any more than we were willing to accept the tyranny of Queen Mary.”

“There are many paths into Nurmengard known only to those in the high court," said Seraphina. "Ya has spent many years as a trusted vizier here, just waiting for one chance. When King Credence expressed his need to end this war, we set one of many plans in motion within moments. Our small group was able to infiltrate the city, get within the walls, and lead the king directly to the throne room, undermining Grindelwald’s power and security. We just needed a diversion.”

“And that is where Tina came to the fore,” said Jacob. “She insisted on her revenge. She lead a small group of the most skilled fighters, cloaked in Ya’s magic, to the very gates of Nurmengard’s citadel before they revealed themselves and began to attack.”

“They were not within the palace,” Credence continued, “but they were closer than any other has come, and with such a threat, we hoped to draw out the entire court.” He spread his hands to encompass the empty throne room. “And it appears to have worked.”

“It might have helped that I ensured all the soldiers looked exactly like Tina,” said Ya, in mock innocence.

“You did?” Seraphina turned to stare at her, shock and delight warring for supremacy.

Ya nodded, a smile plumping her high cheekbones. “It appears now that the one soldier who was released as an insult, as disrespect, has now returned and multiplied. What is more, as time goes on, any soldier of Nurmengard who gets within a certain distance of Tina herself will also appear as her - Grindelwald’s army will begin to turn upon itself, a fact that our own resistance movement will soon take to our advantage.”

Percy shook his head and laughed, awed at the audacity of the plan. “And then what?” he asked the prince. No, the king, now. “Is physical possession of the throne enough?”

Credence widened his eyes slightly, the first sign of anxiety Percy had seen that day. “It will be enough to undermine his rule. I hope.”

Ya suddenly turned and listened as if to an invisible messenger. Indeed that may have been her action, for Percy had no idea of the intricacies of Nurmengard’s magic. “We must prepare,” she said, turning wide eyes to the gathering. “Grindelwald has learned that his throne room is unprotected and returns as we speak.”

Seraphina touched her hand and they nodded at each other with the instinctive communication of long friends or lovers. “Be safe,” she murmured, and with a nod, Ya was gone. Seraphina turned back to the Salemites. “Arrange yourselves as guards to the throne. This entire endeavour depends on our appearance.” 

She raced to Percy and began to pull his armour from a sack, throwing the scuffed leather and steel upon him so it gave the barest appearance of correct. Percy raised an eyebrow at her and pushed her away to take over. “My squire need not worry about his position,” he quipped. She just glared at him and held out a sword.

He stood at Credence’s right hand, while Jacob took the left, the two trained soldiers standing tall and impassive. Newt, wearing borrowed armour, tried hard to emulate them, and Seraphina herself took the vizier’s position behind the throne.

But Percy could hardly take his eyes off Credence. The soft, sweet prince was gone, and in his place sprawled an arrogant warrior king, his chin high and legs spread wide as he slouched in the throne as if he felt entirely comfortable, as if he were in the right and not the usurper.

The tension in the room built as they waited, the silence pressing in on them. Even Percy felt like fidgeting, like speaking, but instead the held their positions, listening hard.

At last there was distant shouting, feet thundering on the stone passageways and the clank of armour. Percy felt his muscles tense as the sound grew nearer and nearer, until the great doors to the throne room burst inwards with an echoing boom.

Grindelwald marched upon them, his hand clenched around his sword and the core of his army following behind. Percy could hear the collective intake of breath as they saw Credence on their master’s throne, the symbol of their leader’s power undermined by a young man slouched upon it.

But Grindelwald simply laughed. “Do you think it would be so simple? Do you truly believe your childish prank is enough to wrest power from Nurmengard?”

“Believe?” said Credence. His lips curled in a smirk, and he rose and walked towards the other king, his hips swaying and steps lazy and casual. “Shall we discuss belief now? You believe we are beneath you, all those who hold no magic. You believe we are little more than animals to be leashed. That is why you came to war with Salem, is it not? Although you do not call it war, but taming. To you we are wild horses to be broken in. And yet now you can see that these animals you so deride are able to trick you.” He tutted. “How embarrassing, for a king to be tricked by a beast. Perhaps you are not as powerful as your people believe. Perhaps you are not fit to rule them.”

Percy could see the flicker of rage that spread over Grindelwald’s face, and hear the rippling murmurs of thought in the soldiers that now lined the throne room. Then Grindelwald snorted again. “And who is suitable to rule Nurmengard? You? A fresh child, son of a queen so stupid and set in her ways she had no other strategy but to throw her people at our gates?”

“Aye, I am her son,” Credence nodded. “I am not her. Her strategy was harmful to my people, and thus I killed her, as I will destroy any who threaten Salem. All of Salem, that is, and not just the non-magical citizens.” He gestured at Newt, who held out his hand, muttering under his breath. Grindelwald’s eyes widened as the golden crown changed on Credence’s curls, diamonds glittering as they flowed into place in an organic, leaf-like shape. “Unlike my mother, unlike yourself, I am not so scared to foster those with different strengths to me. All skills shall be welcome in Salem.”

Grindelwald looked on him with pity. “All skills? And when your pathetic, magicless worms realise that they are without skill? When it becomes clear as it has to those in Nurmengard that we with magic have no need for those without, what would you have them do? Carry you, do all the work without hope of recompense, like a mother who knows her children will never grow? Why should those with magic support such a farce?”

“I do not know, Grindelwald,” he said, head cocked on one side. “What is it that we have to offer? What _is_ it that gave us the power to infiltrate your deepest inner sanctum and sit upon your sacred throne?”

“Luck,” he scoffed. “And riding on the wings of those misguided magic users who have seen fit to help you.”

“And why is it that a powerful entity such as Nurmengard should remain at war with a country of militant anti-magic sentiment for such a long time? Should not your superior power have overwhelmed us by now? But instead you have been embattled with us for years.”

“Numbers,” he scoffed. “Nothing more.”

Credence hummed and turned to pace, showing his disrespect by not keeping Grindelwald in sight at all times. Percy knew that it was a clever move politically, but he could not help but clench his fists and wish himself closer to protect him. “Numbers,” said Credence, nodding. “And perhaps our more advanced weaponry, our technology, our training. Things I believe your council has campaigned for these past months, to your scorn.” He smiled smugly at the furious man. “Indeed, I know the workings of your council. I have my spies. Sorry to disappoint your views of my inferior intellect and skill as a leader.”

“I should kill you where you stand.”

Credence threw his head back and laughed. “You really have no idea the extent to which my network extends in your country, do you? I have been plotting since before I came of age, since I realised that my mother would never support my ascension to the throne. I have so much practice at hiding my strength, Grindelwald, you have simply no idea. And when you began to attack my country, when you and my mother engaged in your pathetic posturing and strutting, this waste of precious life on both sides, it was but the work of months for me to extend my tendrils into your world. You have no concept of how dissatisfied your people are, do you? You simply do not care. If one appears less powerful than you, they are discounted.”

“What have you done?” he hissed, his fist clenched around his sword. Percy felt his body tense in readiness.

Credence let the smile creep across his face slowly. He held up one hand and snapped his fingers. In the distance an explosion rocked, and the soldiers flinched, turning to each other in shock and confusion.

“What was that?”

Credence snapped his fingers again, and another blast rang out.

“What do you want, boy?” Grindelwald roared.

“An end to this war,” he said, his smile gone, his eyes hard and unyielding. “I have no interest in your throne. I turn away none who wish to come to Salem, with magic or without, but I will have it known that my people are protected. No longer will they fear for their lives, not from this stupid war, not from your entitled raids on our borders, and not from a despotic ruler who uses them as canon fodder. Our strength lies in numbers, in the people with little power but the freedom to use that power to the fullest. The woman who hears, the man who knows the perfect quantity of explosives, the quiet people who go unnoticed and may plant their explosives in strategic positions, the loyalty of a soldier, the patience of people who have been used and then rejected for too long.”

Grindelwald snarled. “You sneak. You little bastard.”

“Indeed. It is _my_ strength,” he shrugged. “I do not want your throne, I have my own. But I want my peace, and I will have it. Either with you on the throne or not.”

Grindelwald held his gaze for a long moment, and Percy held himself by a thread. At last he nodded. “Call off your dogs,” he said, his voice little more than a hiss. “You shall have your treaty.”

Credence held up his hand and gestured. In the distance a shout went up, and another. Cheers reached their ears.

Then Credence dropped his arm and went to step back. 

Percy knew it was coming, knew Grindelwald must have seen there was no recovery from such destabilisation. He will have known there was no future in which he remained upon the throne, not with so much of his country in disarray. Percy was moving before Grindelwald lifted his sword, before he drew back his arm and drove it forward. He was throwing himself before his lover before it had a chance to scratch his precious skin, and felt the steel enter his waist, angled upwards into his flesh, into his lungs. The pain bloomed like flowers of ice, and Percy’s eyes fluttered with the overwhelm of it.

The world narrowed to a single point, the pain the only thing that existed. Beyond it he could only just hear the roar of rage. He was dimly aware of Credence, black robes whirling. Then there was red, splattering the floor, and he knew not if it was his own or someone else’s. It did not matter, as long as it was not his beloved Credence’s. He blinked, battled with the air itself, tried to draw it into his body. He must stay alive just long enough to see his love well.

“Percy!” The voice was in pain, and he struggled to open his eyes, fought to comfort his king. But Credence was not hurt, only splattered with Grindelwald’s blood. He bent over Percy, his hands soft on his cheek, his eyes swelling with tears. Percy raised a shaking hand to brush them away. “Percy, my love, hold on. You will be well, but you must hold on.”

“Are you well, my love?”

“Only if you live!”

He smiled, tired. “You must be well, Credence,” he rasped, and coughed. Blood thickened on his tongue, and he closed his eyes. As long as Credence was well, he had done his job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BEFORE YOU KILL ME PLEASE REMEMBER THERE'S ONE CHAPTER LEFT TO GO AND THE TAGS ARE ACCURATE ok run!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy wakes in his King's bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOLD YOU HE'D BE FINE!
> 
> AND this chapter was written by my Silent Partner, so you know that means it's sexy time!

Percy blinked eyes he thought had closed for the last time. Light seared as his eyelids cracked open, and he frowned. Surely the afterlife should not be so… prosaic? He felt like he had merely drunk too much mead and forgot to compensate with some water after emptying a tankard.

Another moment passed, and he focused on his surroundings. This was not where he had fallen, blood seeping from under his shaking hand. He was home - at least that was how he liked to think of the castle. Of Credence’s bedroom. The _king’s_ bedroom

He turned his head on the pillow, Credence’s pillow, and saw the young man sitting in a chair beside the bed, looking at him anxiously. “You’re awake! At last. I’ve been so worried. Newt told me not to, said I should just trust him and his… witches brew, but I could not. I thought the worst that first day, and the second. This is the third day you’ve slept without waking at all.”

Percy inhaled deeply and stretched out a hand, curling his fingers around Credence’s slender wrist as he caressed his brow. “I’m fine, my king. I’m honoured you’ve allowed them to put me up in your quarters. What a scandal.” 

He teased the boy effortlessly and Credence’s cheeks turned pink before his fingers trailed up to card through Percy’s hair. “Don’t be ridiculous. You cause no trouble by being here. And I want you here… because I must ask you something very important.”

Percy sighed and smiled weakly. “Anything, my king.”

Credence hummed to himself, getting up from the chair to drop down to one knee, cradling Percy’s hand between both of his own. “I… I believe I made it clear in Nurmengard that I would not keep our love behind closed doors. I will not take a wife - my sister Chastity shall be named Queen and shall rule at my side. Any children she bears will carry on our bloodline. That being said… Sir Percival, would you do me the honour of becoming Prince Consort to me, the king?” He looked up at him, his warm brown eyes coyly shrouded with thick lashes.

He had a moment and a half of shock and disbelief. Credence was proposing to him, while he was wearing more bandages than clothing - he could feel only the silky sheets over his legs. More than that, the king’s first thought was for a simple knight’s safety and happiness!

Percy drew in a shuddering breath and shook his head. Credence’s face fell tragically before Percy could speak, and Percy felt a deeper and more yearning ache to kiss his beauty, his full lips. “My king, I think you must know how deeply I appreciate your offer, but I cannot accept. Please allow me to amend your request, and offer my services not as Prince, but as Knight Consort, so that I can be assured of your safety always.”

Credence’s eyes shone as he looked up again, and when he blinked and sniffed, two perfect tears slipped down his pale cheeks before he surged forwards, covering Percy’s body in favour of pressing his mouth to the knight’s. “You great oaf, I thought you were about to tell me you felt nothing in return for me making you such an offer.”

Percy managed a smile beneath the weight of his love’s soft mouth, and felt Credence retreating slightly, gasping as he lamented the knight’s injuries. “I fear I cannot demand of you what I desire, and that is far more than kissing, Percy.”

He couldn’t help the smirk that formed over his lips, and he blinked lazily over at Credence. He shifted his position on the bed, rising up on his elbows to press back, so that he was leaning further against the pillows. “Why should you deny us both what we desire, my king? I may not be able to mount you, but I’m more than eager and willing for you to have me?”

Credence swallowed, and Percy watched the movement of his throat as warmth pooled in his belly, washing away any hint of remaining pain from his healing body. “You would… want that?”

He looked at him with such uncertainty in his gaze, and Percy put a hand to the younger man’s cheek, his thumb pressing along the swell of his bottom lip. He felt Credence shudder, and his heartbeat leaped at the remembrance, the way his king had looked the last time they were intimate. How he longed to hear all those delightful sounds again, and his greatest wish was to spur Credence onto such heights. “All I want is you. Whatever you choose to grant me I will be glad for.”

“I don’t know how good I can possibly be. You’ve shown me more than I could discover alone. Although… Newt is incorrigible. He insisted you would be well enough to dance once the third day had arrived.”

Percy chuckled softly. “I suspect he was teasing you, my king.”

Credence frowned slightly, a furrow to his dark brows, and Percy only loved him more. “Please, call me by my name. We’re alone. You requested the same indulgence. My knight consort needs not use my title in our bedroom.”

Percy licked his lips, and saw Credence’s eyes following the movement. “Very well then. Credence, will you join me in bed? I would undress you myself, but I suspect I shall receive greater joy by simply watching you.”

As it turned out, he was correct. Credence moved away from the bed long enough to shed his ornamental tunic and remove his socks and boots, slipping underneath Percy’s coverlet and blankets to press close to his side. The sensations that skin to skin contact brought were incredible, reminding him just how _good_ it felt to have Credence so near, kissable and so obviously aroused. Percy knew the hardness that nudged against the side of his waist wasn’t just the boy’s thigh, and when Credence shifted a leg over his body to straddle him he felt slender hips rock down, granting friction to his own groin. “Mmm, darling, do you have anything like that oil from before?” he murmured into Credence’s mouth, breaking the kiss only to ask the important questions.

“Not yet. I want you in my mouth first,” Credence answered him, dragging his lips from Percy’s own to the side of his jaw, down his neck, nuzzling his cheek over the downy hair from his longer beard. He hadn’t had a chance to shave in over a week, and if Credence liked it that much, well, he wasn’t going to go out of his way to ask for a blade.

Percy felt a cool kiss of air against his bare shoulders, and then to his stomach as Credence pushed the sheets down, giving himself more room to apply his mouth. He kissed warmly over Percy’s clavicle, down the ladder of his ribs, careful to avoid the bandage over most of his stomach while rising back up to sweetly lick around the pebbled flesh of his nipples. He must have been trying to repeat what Percy had done to him before, and though it didn’t bring quite the same reaction, he still feels his arousal continuing to burn hotter.

He lifted a hand to cradle the back of Credence’s skull, fingers stroking through his silky soft hair. Percy’s hips rocked up automatically when he felt the boy’s tongue trace a spot below the edge of the gauze, right beside his navel, and then Credence’s hands were gently urging Percy’s legs apart, his soft puffs of breath hitting right atop his groin. Percy knew very well that Credence wasn’t meaning to, but the shy, calculated ways he was touching him end up having the same result as if he were intentionally dragging things out. “Darling, you mustn’t tease me so.”

“Sorry, my love. I’ll make you see the stars now, I promise.” Credence’s fingertips dug into the skin of Percy’s thighs, squeezing and massaging over his sore muscles, while his clever mouth slipped down to kiss along the length of him. Percy, if he’d not already been well on the way to getting fully hard, was now squirming and frantically chasing after Credence’s touch. Silky lips, wet with saliva, took the head of him inside a hot mouth, and then the boy’s tongue tongue flicked against the slit of Percy’s cock, leaving no room for coherency inside his mind.

All thoughts faded out into nothingness, and his head fell back hard against the pillows beneath him. Both his hands grasped at Credence’s head and shoulders, urging him closer as he tried not to be too demanding. Percy’s orgasm stole over him a few minutes later, after he’d spent as much time as he could formulating mock advice in his head to give to the king.

Credence’s throat convulsed slightly around Percy’s cock as he swallowed his release, pulling off him only to gently continue licking over his sensitive skin, making him need to tug firmly over his hair in favour of halting his movements. “Bad?”

Percy exhaled deeply. “No, Credence, merely overwhelming. I must catch my breath.”

Credence went flatteringly pink in the face, then ducked his head to kiss Percy’s naked hip. “Sorry. I just got a bit caught up in the moment. I’ll go fetch the oil now, shall I?”

He nodded weakly, and watched as Credence emerge from beneath the sheets to walk over to his bathing chambers. Percy greatly appreciated the view of the king from behind, a massive expanse of pale creamy skin just begging to be marked, a blank canvas for love bites and bruises from clinging too hard to his love. He was quite gratified to see all the scars from Credence’s overbearing, cruel mother were fading nicely. 

He became lost in thought, so when Credence returned, fairly buzzing with his own arousal, he startled a touch as he climbed back into bed. “Hello. I hope you don’t mind cocoa infused oil? This one smells rather smoky, and sweet, but feels wonderful on the skin. It has warming properties.”

“I’ve had cocoa in a drink before. It tastes delicious. I think this must be a wonderful invention.”

Credence let out a soft laugh, then set the bottle of oil aside, reaching up to pet his bearded cheek before licking his lips. “I wonder, will I be able to open you up like this? With you on your back? When you had me, I was—“ He broke off, cheeks going as dark as his kiss-swollen mouth, and Percy smirked.

“Darling, it might be even _better_ like this, as you can kiss me while you have me.”

Credence laughed again, sounding a touch higher pitched. “Oh, yes. I mean, before that.”

Percy rubbed a hand over the boy’s shoulder, and squeezed him gently. “It’ll be fine. I trust you. Just go slow.”

Credence nodded, looking very serious as he settled between Percy’s parted thighs, and retrieved the oil to unstopper it, carefully pouring some out into his palm while looking right at his crotch. “Should I lift my legs?” Percy asked, and Credence coughed.

“Oh, my, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. I’ll just reach down here and—“ He interrupted himself to dip two fingers into the sweet, woodsy smelling puddle on his hand, before then dragging them up Percy’s inner thigh, and touching behind his sack. “Ah, yes,” he said, mostly to himself.

Percy didn’t think he’d felt very feverish, until now. With the king’s long fingers slowly rubbing wet circles over his taint and pushing down and into his hole, he now recognised that ache inside himself. He lay back as flat as he could, still watching Credence as he hovered atop him, working first one slender finger inside, curling it slightly, jolting past a spot that made Percy’s heart skip a beat, before hitting it again and adding a second.

Credence looked as if he was growing short of breath as he slowly thrust his fingers in and out of Percy’s hole, the slick feeling of the oil warming and soothing to his sensitive skin. Percy half wondered if he could finish again, just from this, but he made a mental note to hold back, to wait until Credence was properly inside of him before daring to do so. 

“Is it alright? Does it hurt?” Credence asked, his voice strained and a bit raspy, so Percy hurried to assure him. His hand nestled over the back of his neck, guiding him down for a fierce kiss which he could feel distracting Credence, helping him to relax further himself.

“It’s wonderful. You’re doing fantastically. You can add another one, considering how gifted you are, my king. It’ll help.”

Credence spluttered out something like an apology, and Percy just grinned, and petted his hair. “Nonsense, it’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m lucky to have your attentions.”

When Credence had speared all three of his fingers into Percy’s tight muscle, and there wasn’t an ounce of pain from the stretch, he determined himself to be ready, softly whispering for the boy to do it. To have him in earnest.

Credence’s entire body shivered as he withdrew from Percy, and he watched the way the king’s eyes fluttered closed from the merest touch of his own hand upon his cock, slicking himself up so that there was extra lubrication to ease the way. As Credence began to push in, Percy exhaled, and watched his face. It was pure bliss, feeling how his body accepted Credence’s cock, and every fission of pleasure that darted up and down his spine was echoed with the hitching of the king’s breath.

“You’re so warm, so tight,” Credence managed to blurt out before catching himself, and Percy wanted to laugh with delight. Instead, he quietly thanked him, told him it was alright to move a bit fater, to thrust in at his own pace. Credence lowered himself down over Percy’s body in favour of seeking out another kiss, languid and deep, his tongue pressing in a wet slide between Percy’s lips, flitting behind his teeth, while both of his hands braced on the bed at the sides of his face. Percy kept his hands steady on Credence’s waist, only distractedly reaching back to grasp over his flexing ass when he was fully sheathed inside him. His lanky form trembled with the effort it took to pull out and rebury himself into Percy’s hole, chasing his pleasure and relishing every twitch and clench of him around his cock. 

“Darling, don’t hold back. Come whenever you’re ready.”

“It feels so good, Percy. I don’t want it to ever end.” 

Percy felt dizzy even as he smiled lovingly up at Credence, catching a glimpse of a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “It’s alright love. This is just the beginning. Let go.”

His hands moved up to cur over Credence’s shoulders, holding him close, and he felt the boy’s hips go still, as warmth spread inside him. Credence gasped into his mouth, turning away from the kiss to bury his face in Percy’s neck, shivering slightly overtop him.

A hand fumbled between their bodies, grazing along his stomach, skittering past the bandages, and Percy’s entire body felt alight when Credence’s fingers made contact with his cock. Still slippery with the sweet oil, all it took was a few firm tugs of his hand to bring him off again, and his legs pressed tightly against the side of Credence’s waist, holding him there, keeping him inside until it became uncomfortable.

Credence withdrew gently, wary of Percy’s healing wounds, kissing his temple, over his cheek, his nose, whispering that he would be right back. Percy wanted to tell him not to clean this. Not to erase the evidence of their coupling, but that would only lead to a need for a bath later. Credence swiped a wet cloth between his legs, then folded it to brush over his cock, washing away his own spend. 

Percy rolled onto his side on the bed, curling around an extra pillow, and to his delight, a few moments later, Credence slipped back under the covers, tucking into his back, legs folded behind his bent knees. Lips pressed on his shoulder, the nape of his neck, and Percy smiled wearily. “Are you going to stay and rest with me, Credence?”

He felt a nod, then Credence hummed into his skin. “As long as we both shall live, right?”

Percy placed his hand over his love’s, draping over his waist atop the blanket.

_“Happily ever after.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for supporting this story! If you haven't already please make sure you go have a look at the [beautiful aesthetic](https://vacantbloodbones.tumblr.com/post/171042074630/the-soft-golden-prince-credence-the-tragic) by VacantBloodBones that inspired the whole thing as well


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